


Room 131

by with_wit_and_perfect_timing



Category: Captain America (Comics), Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Artist Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Gen, Hurt Bucky Barnes, Hurt Steve Rogers, Oblivious Steve Rogers, Past Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Protective Bucky Barnes, Protective Steve, Protective Steve Rogers, Sassy Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers Feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-29
Updated: 2016-12-01
Packaged: 2018-09-02 23:19:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8687455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/with_wit_and_perfect_timing/pseuds/with_wit_and_perfect_timing
Summary: Tis the Christmas season, and best friends Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers can hardly contain their patience for the holidays. That is, until Steve forgets his inhaler, and lands himself in the hospital. And becomes sick. Really sick.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: If you have trouble reading about near-death experiences in hospitals, please be warned that this is one of the main topics in this fic. VERY MUCH IMPLIED suicidal thoughts, and moments of depression.

**December 5 th, 1929**

**Brooklyn, New York**

 

            “Hey Bucky, wait up!”

            The scrawny blond scampered to return to his friend’s side on the frozen sidewalk. It was winter in Brooklyn and snow had fallen in icy thin sheets, melting and refreezing to create peril for anyone unfortunate to not come equipped with the proper footwear. In this case, that would be poor Steven Grant Rogers.

            Racing to keep up with Bucky, Steve skid and slipped on the incline, the ice showing him no mercy. Bucky turned around, eager when hearing his best friend’s voice, but panic flashed across his face when he witnessed Steve’s trip. In a flash, he lunged forward and grasped Steve tightly, Steve’s face inches from the stone cold concrete.

            “Christ, Steve, you gotta be careful,” Bucky said, lifting the small boy to his feet.

            “Sorry, my shoes aren’t meant for snow or sleet.” Steve complained, eyeing his pitiful soles.

            “You’re coming over to my house, right?” Steve asked as they continued their walk.

            “Yeah, but we gotta study before we watch the television, I promised Ma.”

            “Then we better get home quick! Last one there is a rotten apple!” Steve said excitedly, taking off down the sidewalk. They had reached the part of town where the cleaners had cleared the walk of snow.

            Bucky laughed and raced behind his friend, holding back only a bit so he won, but by a hair. He passed Steve with ease, the cold air slapping against his frozen cheeks, and his dark hair whipping in the breeze. Bucky pumped his arms and legs, his chest heaving from the thin air. After a few seconds, he turned around to see how far behind Steve was. To his horror, Steve wasn’t even running. He was on the ground, gasping for air.

            “ _STEVE!”_ Bucky screamed, running towards his friend faster than he had ever run before.

            At lightning speed, he knelt and turned Steve completely on his back. Steve’s chest heaved up and down as he struggled to breathe, his face paler than usual and lips a deep blue. Bucky fumbled around Steve’s pant pockets, desperate for his inhaler.

            “Oh, you idiot!” Bucky’s voice was shaky as the pockets overturned with nothing in them.

            Bystanders were already closing in, reacting to Bucky’s frantic cries.

            “Oh God, _Steve!_ Listen to me okay? I need you to breathe, alright? Breathe! In and out, c’mon Steve, in and out. _Breathe!”_

            Steve’s eyes were wide open, frantically looking in all directions. Bucky had the terrible feeling that he wasn’t hearing a single thing he was trying to tell him.

            “Can somebody _help?!”_ Bucky screamed at the strangers who were huddled around the small boy and his friend.

            _Come on, Steve, hang on, just hang on. Just don’t die, please don’t die._

_Please, Steve._

 

            _Beep…beep…beep…_

Bucky had been hearing the same heart monitor sounds for three consecutive hours. He sat in a chair, next to the hospital bed where Steve laid, his eyes closed in unconsciousness.

            The hospital was awful. The lights were too bright, the chairs were too hard, and the cold, monotone _buzzzz_ noise that all the machinery made was making Bucky’s head throb. It was freezing, and he could tell that Steve was cold, too – he was shivering in his sleep. The thin, stiff blanket they had so graciously provided their patient did little to nothing. Everything was stale here, the air, the people, even the water. The nurses tried to brighten the room by bringing in an old dusty teddy bear with button eyes that stared into oblivion, and an ugly old-lady vase with a single, dying daisy.

            The brunet slouched forward, his head resting on his arms, half lying on Steve’s bed. His eyes were closed but he wasn’t asleep quite yet. His anxious stomach had twisted itself into a series of nervous knots, causing him to wince every time he reminded himself what this could mean for Steve, or what might happen. Bucky could feel his head swimming in thoughts, and his breathing going steady.

            But right before he had the chance to tip over the edge of slumber, he heard a voice, like an echo in a cave. Distant, yet he could tell it was coming from right next to him.

            “H-hey,” said the voice, soft and weak.

            Bucky’s eyes fluttered open, his head snapping up. Steve, looking drained completely, had his eyes open just a slit, and his blond head lawled to side. Smiling tenderly at his friend, Steve lightly took Bucky’s hand, and Bucky could tell that he was taking up all of his strength just by staying awake.

            “You’re here,” Steve whispered dreamily.

            “Always, you punk,” Bucky’s voice warbled. He could feel his voice closing up and hopeful tears filling up his lids. “God, you scared us. What the hell d’you think you’re doing, running in ten below? And not carrying your inhaler?” Bucky scolded, gripping Steve’s hand harder.

            Steve’s smiling face dropped and he furrowed his brow sadly, shaking his head from side to side sleepily. “I’m…I’m so sorry, Buck. I didn’t mean to…I-I mean, I just wanted to have some fun…I really didn’t mean to – ”

            “Shh, shh, it’s okay.” Bucky leaned forward, wrapping his arms around Steve, and burying his face in Steve’s shoulders, as shaking tears dribbled from his cheeks. “It’s alright, just don’t be stupid next time. You scared the crud outta me. _And_ your ma.”

            Steve looked around, “Where…where is Mom?”

            Bucky sat back in his chair. “She was here, but she got called back into work.”

            Steve looked deflated, “Oh.”

            “She really wanted to stay but her boss threatened to fire her. A jackass, he is. And she’s gotta pay for your hospital bills.”

            Steve’s shoulders stumped weakly, “Yeah, I suppose you’re right.”

            “Atta boy, Stevie. I should go tell the doctor you’re awake. I’ll be back in a second.”

            A few minutes later, Bucky returned with the doctor and a nurse, a man in a lab coat and a woman in a white nurse uniform.

            “Ah, there you are, Mr. Rogers. You gave us quite a scare earlier. My name is Doctor Fitz and this is my assistant, Nurse Lillian. How are you feeling?”

            Steve shrugged.

            “On a scale of one to ten, one being just a tinge, and ten being unbearable.” Dr. Fitz said reassuringly.

            “Er…a six? It hurts to breathe, I feel droopy, and I am really cold and hot at the same time.”

            Dr. Fitz wrote something down on the clipboard he was holding. “Yes, the hot and cold feeling is coming from your fever. Your temperature is 103.2.” he said.

            “Is that bad?” Bucky and Steve said in unison.

            The doctor chuckled softly. “Not dangerous, if treated with the proper antibiotics. But it seems to be climbing, so we have to watch out for that.” He addressed Nurse Lillian on the last part of his sentence. She nodded.

            “Why does it hurt to breathe?” Steve asked, his voice breaking from strain.

            “Ah, onto the more serious bit.” Dr. Fitz said. “According to your tests, the pain you’re experiencing is brought on by pneumonia, most likely caused by your asthmatic condition.”

            “Pneumonia? What’s that?”

            “Well, to put in simple terms, an infection in your lungs that makes it difficult to breathe properly.” The doctor explained.

            “Thanks for getting me, Bucky. I’ll have a nurse come in and complete a full evaluation.” And with a wink and click of his pen, Dr. Fitz left the room with Nurse Lillian in tow, closing the door behind them.

            “I’ve heard of pneumonia,” Bucky sighed. “It’s when gunk gets into your lungs and bacteria builds up. If it gets bad enough, you start getting loopy.”

            “I already feel loopy.” Steve said groggily.

            “Well, you ought to stay awake, the nurse is gonna be here any minute.”

            As the words passed his lips, the door of the hospital bed creaked open, and in came a nurse with a clipboard and a smile. Bucky stood up and adjusted his clothes, “I better leave you to it.”

            “Wait,” Steve reached out and took hold of Bucky’s hand. “Can you stay? I don’t wanna be alone.”

            Bucky hesitated, but when the nurse nodded sweetly, he sat back down, squeezing Steve’s hand back. “Yeah, I’ll be right here, bud, the whole time.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rumors spread around Bucky's school, talking about Steve, and how he's getting worse. They don't realize but...so is Bucky.

            Rumors around school spread like wild fire, and consumed the students in its flames, turning them into obsessive little twerps.

            “Hey Barnes, is it true that poor little Stevie had a heart attack? Bernie Jones said his poor little heart couldn’t take it.” Cliff Parks snickered, poking Bucky in the arm with his pencil during math class.

            Bucky ignored him.

            “I heard his bones were so weak, that his leg just snapped like a twig while he was running. Hey, is that true, Barnes?”

            Bucky tightened his fists, but let the steam fizzle.

            Steve had been in the hospital for two and a half weeks, in bad enough condition to not leave the hospital. Those two weeks had been agonizing for Bucky. Every day, after school, he went straight to Room 131, where his designated chair and best friend awaited him patiently. He would read to Steve, or play cards, or tell bad jokes – just to see him laugh – and sometimes, they would sit in silence, simply feeling content in each other’s company. And Bucky loved every second of it. The worst part was when he had to leave each day, to go home to dinner.

            On the sixteenth day of Steve’s stay, the last day of the school before Christmas break, Bucky was finding it particularly hard to sit through lessons. The school was still a buzz with Steve’s news, probably because nothing interesting happened all winter. It was driving Bucky nuts, listening to all the whispers and gossip, the jokes and the prodding during class about “poor little Stevie” and “scrawny Rogers”, and how his poor little heart couldn’t take it.

            “Bucky?” asked a small voice from behind him. He was getting his books out of his locker. Turning around, he saw the voice was little Mary Hendricks, twisting her hair nervously.

            “Oh, hey Mary.” He said, trying not to sound exhausted.

            “Is…” Mary’s eyes began to shine with tears. “Is Steve going to be okay?” her voice shook.

            Bucky closed his locker slowly, looking at the ground. “I don’t know.” He whispered.

            “Oh,” she said timidly. “Erm…could you…tell me when you hear anything?”

            “Yeah, sure thing.” Bucky flashed a quick smile and left, leaving Mary in the hall to worry.

            _Wait till Steve hears about that,_ Bucky thought grinning to himself, leaving the school on his bike.

            But he forgot all about Mary Hendricks and her leaky eyes when he checked into the hospital that afternoon for his visit for Steve. When he reached Room 131, the door was closed.

            _Hmm,_ he thought, _that’s odd._ Shrugging it off, he reached for the door handle.

            “James, dear,” called a voice from behind. There stood Mrs. Rogers, dressed in all white with a smile on her face, the kind of smile that bore bad news.

            “Hi, Mrs. Rogers,” Bucky greeted uneasily.

            “I don’t think right now is the best time to see Steve, James.” Mrs. Rogers said softly, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.

            “What do you mean?” Bucky asked. “What’s wrong?”

            “Well,” Mrs. Rogers struggled to find the words. Bucky could tell she had just learned the news herself, still coming to terms with it.

            “Steve isn’t getting better. The doctor is noticing more build up in his lungs. They’re weakening…” She bit her bottom lip to keep from crying.

            Bucky nodded solemnly.

            “It’d be best if you just went home for the day, darling. He’s sleeping, and rightfully so. Come back on Monday and I’ll update you then.”

            Bucky nodded again, and started walking back down the hall.

            “Oh, and James?”

            He turned around.

            “Thank you…for coming here, and being with him. He gets so sad sometimes, a-and you’re the only one who’s bothered to show a-and I just –”

            “You’re welcome, Mrs. Rogers.” And with a tip of his cap, Bucky left the hospital.

           

            The walk home was quiet. Not in the sense where no words were spoken, but where a numbness crept over Bucky like frostbite, slowly draining all feeling until nothing but a shell where a soul once lived. Bucky was scared. He would rather feel sad than feel nothing at all. As he mindlessly walked the Brooklyn streets with his hands shoved in his pockets, he attempted to claw up a feeling – any feeling at all – but nothing came up.

            When he pushed open the door to his apartment and stomped the snow off of his feet, his three younger siblings ran up to him, celebrating his early return.

            “James!” his mother exclaimed, coming from the kitchen. “You’re home early.”

            “Yeah,” Bucky said, hanging his bag on its hook.

            “Is Steve alright?” She asked.

            “Yeah,” He lied. “Just resting.”

            An awkward silence.

            “I’m going to my room,” Bucky announced, trying to seem as cheerful as possible, so his mother wouldn’t ask him for an update on his emotional state. Hurriedly, he retreated to his bedroom.

            Bucky Barnes sat on his bed, legs folded beneath him…and there he sat. Completely void of any previous emotion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooooo?? Thoughts? Questions? Comment below, your feedback is so important (not to mention my vice for constant validation haha anywaysss) 
> 
> Don't forget kudos! A new chapter is coming soon :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky brings Steve his Christmas gifts inside the hospital.

The next day he awoke with the same feeling, and trekked through his Saturday and Sunday numbly, his mind absent through chores, watching programs, and finishing homework. Luckily his parents and siblings were too busy to notice, letting him decay in peace. He didn’t want to talk about it because he didn’t know what “it” was. “It” was nothing; “it” was just an empty space. He was sure that if scientists hooked him up to a machine that tracked his brain activity, they would’ve just seen a single line that went on for miles.

             It was only when he ate breakfast on Monday morning, he felt his first glimmer of excitement.

            Racing to the St. John’s hospital faster than ever before, Bucky felt something: determination. He practically flung his bike on the rack, spoke in tongues to the lady at the check-in counter, and bolted to Room 131, in which the door was open.

            Steve was in there alone, staring at the ceiling on his back. Bucky rushed in, breathing heavy in the doorway.

            “Hey Stevie,” he heaved another breath.

            “Buck,” Steve rasped weakly.

            A small pang of fear ran through Bucky, ending in his throat. “You don’t sound too good, pal.” Bucky choked.

             Steve shook his head and attempted to sit up in his bed. “The doc says it’s gettin’ worse.”

            Bucky sat down in his chair. “How worse?”

            The blond boy looked deep into his friend’s eyes, his bottom lip quivering. “Well,” his voice cracked. “If it gets much worse…” he stopped, biting his lip and fighting his tears.

            Bucky leaned forward and took Steve’s hand, “Your lungs might not make it.” He finished solemnly, his world crashing around him.

            Steve nodded, and then smiling, “Pretty crummy way to spend Christmas, huh? Instead of coal, Santa’s putting me six feet under.” He chuckled heartily, as if it were a joke.

            Bucky drew back his hand, feeling a wave of frost ripple through his body. “Don’t joke like that,” he said to Steve, looking away from him.

            Steve’s voice changed. “Oh, I’m sorry. I kinda have to joke about it, it makes me feel better.”

            Bucky stared at the ground, his arms crossed.

            Steve looked at him. “Hey,” he said, and Bucky finally looked back at him. “Everything is going to be okay.” He said gently.

            There was nothing he could do to make Bucky believe him.

 

            All was not well for Bucky when he went home that night. The same murky greyness that possessed him still lay in his head, bringing his body and spirit down like an anchor. When he arrived home, he didn’t try to seem okay. Trying not to storm, he brushed off his mother’s questions of Steve’s condition and excused himself to his room.

            He sat…and sat…and sat. Waiting patiently, feeling a volcano-like eruption starting to form until finally…

            The gates had been waiting to open for days, the hoover dam that held in every feeling, every single emotion he had built up, that had been suppressed in his 11-year old body was let loose. It nearly consumed him, the tsunami of grief that took over his being, the crashing of hopeless waves. First, his chest and throat began to tighten, as well as his fists. He shook violently as tears spilled forth from his eyes, failing to cease and soaking his shirt. Heat rose to his cheeks, his sobs only growing louder until a small pillow had to be bit to silence his wails.

            Everything hurt and nothing was okay. Bucky’s entire body ached from the inside out, his raw emotion devouring him. Bucky lay, curled up on his meek twin bed, gripping his sheets as if they were the only thing keeping him from death.

            Steve was sick. Steve was dying. It never once occurred to Bucky that he might outlive his best friend, that he might have to live without Steve. He tried to imagine it, but all he saw were replays of the past three days, stretched across decades. Years with no feeling, or even worse, times like this.

            Bucky saw all of this, and he saw the end of his life, which may or may not have been inflicted upon himself.

            Bucky stopped crying immediately, and sat up. He had never had a suicidal thought before, especially one that vivid, that determined. He feared what he would do to himself if he had lost Steve. _Was Steve his will to live?_ Bucky asked himself, sniffling and pulling his knees to his chest.

            _No,_ he told himself firmly. _If Steve died_ (the thought alone sent a chill through him) _I would have to take care of his mom._ If anyone was going to suffer more than him, it was Mrs. Rogers. He would cook and clean for her, when she didn’t have the will to get up in the morning.

            And what about _his_ family? He was the eldest of four, what would poor Becca do without his silly memory games? How would the twins go to sleep at night without him reading a bedtime story?

            No, he was needed here.

            But then again, so was Steve.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

            Visits to Steve became less frequent, and shorter, typically ending with an excuse to go home, chores or Christmas break homework. It was hard, seeing Steve wither away in a hospital bed. His skin was always pale, almost transparent, like you could see right through him. His pneumonia mutated into hyperthermia, and he was always sweating and shaking, but constantly needing warmth. It wasn’t going away, and it most certainly was not getting better.

 

            It was December 23rd, the night before Christmas Eve. Bucky told himself he wouldn’t go to St. John’s that day, but he found himself checking in and wondering how he got there. Steve was with his mother, and he held her hand as she sang to him. They did this often; Mrs. Rogers would sing him Christmas hymns, the music he wasn’t able to enjoy.

            Bucky walked into the room slowly, trying not to disturb the sweet melodies Mrs. Rogers created.

            Steve had his eyes closed, but he wasn’t sleeping, for a soft smile crept across his face.

            Mrs. Rogers ended her song, petted her son’s hand, and then got up to let Bucky and Steve have their time together.

            Steve peaked his eye open. “Buck,” he whispered dreamily. “You came.”

            Bucky could feel tears conjuring, and he tried desperately to expel them. Since when did he become such a weakling? Crying came easily nowadays, and he hated feeling so vulnerable.

            “Yeah Stevie,” Bucky choked out, wiping his face. “I’m here.”

            God…Steve looked so tired. It was like life was being sucked out of him as they spoke, every breath was straining.

            “This room…It’s like my new home.” Steve said slowly, looking at the nearly empty room.

            “Don’t say that,” Bucky begged. “When you get better, you’ll be going home. And you will never have to see this room again.”

            Steve didn’t reply, just stared at the wall ahead of him. The boys sat in silence, peaceful and still.

            “Will you decorate the room for me?” Steve asked, breaking the silence.

            Bucky looked at the small innocent face of his friend, and his aching body told him to say no.

            “Sure thing, who do I ask?”

            Bucky spent a decent amount of time stringing up decorations, provided to him by some nurses who had extra from decorating the lobby. He spent an hour stringing up lights, adding splashes of tinsel, and singing Steve’s favorite Christmas carols, dancing around like an idiot.

            Nothing gave him more joy than seeing Steve’s face light up and grin, as Bucky finally finished the decorating of the room. Bucky could even see the slightest hint of rose in his cheeks.

            “Oh…” Steve breathed, lying back in his bed. “It looks so beautiful.”

            “You should sleep,” Bucky suggested, spying Steve’s drooping eyelids.

            “Mmmm…” Steve mumbled, opening his eyes one more time to take in the view of the newly embellished room. “It’s like looking at the stars….it’s been so long….thank…” But before Steve could properly credit Bucky’s handiwork, he drifted off to sleep.

            Smiling warmly at his slumbering friend, Bucky flipped the light switch – keeping the Christmas lights on, of course – and left the room.

            “He’s asleep.” Bucky informed Mrs. Rogers, who was sitting in the hall, reading a novel.

            “Oh, good, he needs plenty of that.” She told him.

            “Can I ask permission for somethin’?” Bucky asked, sitting next to her.

            “Of course,” she replied, concern fluttering across her face.

            “Can I bring my Christmas gifts tomorrow morning, so Steve can open them?”

            Mrs. Rogers furrowed her brow, “Your Christmas gifts? Why not bring them Christmas morning?”

            Bucky felt his face burn. “Steve’s not getting better…is he?”

            “Tomorrow morning would be perfect,” was all she said.

           

            Bucky arrived the next day, Saturday morning, with boxes in his hands wrapped well with a child’s innocent touch. Steve’s face lit up when Bucky walked through the door.

            “Awh, Buck, you shouldn’t have,” he said humbly, but Bucky could see the joy bubbling up inside of him like a fizzy drink.

            “Merry Christmas, pal,” Bucky announced, placing the boxes on his bed.

            “Can I open ‘em?”

            “Don’t be stupid, ‘course you can.”

            Wrapping paper flew in every direction as Steve opened his gift.

            _Snow shoes._

            “They’re a bit big, but you’ll grow into ‘em. To keep you from falling on your ass all the time.” Bucky quipped.

            “Language!” Mrs. Rogers called from the hall.

            “Sorry Mrs. Rogers!”

            Steve hugged the shoes to his chest. “Gosh…thanks so much.”

            The next gift was a portfolio.

            “So you can hold onto all your drawings and keep ‘em from getting mucked up.”

            Steve examined the beige folder with bright eyes. “Wow, you think of everything.”

            “Well, go on. Open the last one.”

            It was a framed photo. A Polaroid Mrs. Rogers had taken of them on the first day of the school year, wearing a uniform and big smile. Bucky’s arm was around Steve’s little neck, without a care in the world.

            “I made the frame myself. This way, if you ever get sick again, and I’m at school, you can just look at this, and it will almost be like we’re together.”

            Steve stared at the frame. Then he turned to Bucky with tears in his eyes.

            “Am I going to die?” he asked.

            Bucky’s heard dropped into his shoes. “No,” he said with his jaw set firm.

            “Then aren’t I getting better? Why does it hurt to breathe? I’m always shivering, and freezing, but burning up inside. I can barely move…” Steve whimpered weakly.

            Bucky stood up and pulled Steve’s head to his chest. “You’re not going to die.” He told him.

            “Then why’d you bring my presents today instead of tomorrow?”

            Bucky couldn’t answer him.

            Steve trembled, squeezing the moisture out of his eyes and soaking Bucky’s shirt.

            “I’m scared.”

            This whole time, Steve had stayed so strong, so resilient. Always positive and brightening everyone’s day, whilst being terrified that his days were numbered. Simply, that he was going to die.

            “Don’t worry,” whispered Bucky. “I got you.” He hugged him tighter than he had ever before.

            He was never letting go.

 

            That night, Bucky knelt by his bed, his hands clasped together. And for the first time in his life, Bucky prayed.

            “Um, I know we don’t talk much, but I need your help alright?” He had no idea how to pray, was there etiquette?

            “Steve is sick…um…really sick. And I’m not sure he’s gonna get better. I don’t know, um, what you can do exactly, and if this is in your field of work, but I guess you can do anything, huh? Well, if you could just…ya know, fix up whatever is making him sick, that would be great.”

            His throat tightened as he struggled to find the words.

            “I just – I don’t know what I’ll do…ya know, if he’s gone. Just make sure he doesn’t go anywhere, a’right? He’s all I got left.” His bottom lip trembled. _Stop crying. Stop crying. Stop crying._

            “Just…please, _God,_ don’t let him die.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So as you can tell, this was very emotional for me to write because I'm actual trash. Anyways, I'm hoping your Bucky and Steve trash as well, because that means you enjoyed this story. Thanks so much for reading so far, the last chapter is coming! Get ready for feels. 
> 
> Comment + kudos!
> 
> \- Kaz


	4. Christmas Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something wasn't right...

           

 

 

 

 

            Waking up on Christmas morning, Bucky expected it – many months prior of the incident, as young children usually fantasize their favorite holiday – to seem magical and exciting. But the little boy only awoke with a pit of dread in his stomach.

            _Something wasn’t right…_

            He could feel it in his guy when he woke up, then realized it might be because Steve didn’t wake up at all. He dressed as quickly as humanly possible, and left a note for his parents, who were slumbering along with his siblings.

            Opening the door to the outside knocked the wind out of Bucky, who pulled his coat in tighter. The sun wasn’t up, and darkness and frost covered the entire city from head to toe, sucking all warmth from Bucky’s body. The day was still frozen, and for most people on Christmas morning, hadn’t even begun yet.

            Bucky rode his bike three miles to St. John’s Hospital, his hands frozen numb despite his gloves. Panic started to rise in his throat, his heart beat racing, and his legs pumping desperately to go faster down the Brooklyn streets. Ice covered the roads like a skating rink.

            Turning a sharp corner, Bucky’s bike skid and he landed on his side, scraping his shoulder and knee, causing blood to smear on his clothes. He grit his teeth, and turned the bike upright once more. The pain was now searing through his entire body, and now his heart was nearly beating out of his chest.

            _Something wasn’t right…_

As he entered the hospital, everything slowed down.

            _The nurses sipped their early morning coffee in the break room, exhausted from the graveyard shift. The florescent lights flickered, making everything seem twice as fast, but also three times as slow. Everything moved in waves, like when the television antennae needed to be adjusted._

_Bucky ran. He raced through the halls, dodging everything like it was a game of football. His breath quickened, and he could only hear the sound of his heartbeat and a constant ringing in his ear. Thoughts clouded Bucky’s vision, his brain swimming around, trying desperately to latch onto a single thought that made sense…_

_Something wasn’t right…_

_He turned a corner, and there was the door with the sacred numbers. Room 131. And there sat Mrs. Rogers in the hall._

_Crying._

_Never before had Bucky’s body reacted to something more quickly or more intense than it had when he saw Mrs. Rogers mourning the death of her son._

_“NO!”_

_His scream rang off the walls of the building._

_It was like he was a ghost, watching the whole thing from above, not even truly experiencing it. His head felt hollow, like it was just there for decoration._

_Bucky ran to the door, terrified to see what the room held for him. Was he ready to see Steve, lifeless and pale, with doctors calling out his time of death and moving him to the morgue?_

_“James-!” Mrs. Rogers called out through sobs, but Bucky could hardly hear her._

_He flung the door open._

_An empty hospital bed._

_He stood in the doorway, his hand still gripping the knob. He didn’t expect to feel this. He envisioned himself kicking and screaming, begging to God that He would bring Steve back. Tears streaming down his face, and his whole world coming crashing down._

_But it didn’t._

_He just stood there, staring at the bed, its white sheets tucked in perfectly, as if Steve was never there. Bucky’s decorations were still up, they hadn’t bothered taking them down._

_Everything was quiet. It felt like the whole building was frozen in amber, stuck in suspended animation. Bucky felt his lungs burn for air, and he inhaled, not realizing he hadn’t been breathing. His eyes stung from lack of blinking, but he couldn’t bring himself to move a single inch. He just stared ahead, fixated on Steve’s death bed._

_It was like static was playing in Bucky’s head, and he couldn’t tune it to the right channel – any channel. There was no feeling. Only numb, trickling down Bucky like water._

“Bucky?”

            It was like a light switch had turned on inside of him. Bucky swiveled around so fast, he saw stars.

            And then he saw Steve.

            Rosy cheeks, and eyes of blue. He stood there, looking like an angel in his white gown. His sickly color was gone, and he held a pair of crutches underneath each arm.

            Steve beamed at Bucky. “Guess what?” he exclaimed. “My fever broke last night!”

            Bucky gazed at Steve, in silent disbelief.

            “Yeah, I felt so much better. I stopped shivering, and I can even breathe better! I’m getting my strength back too, that’s where I was, walking for the first time in forever…hey, why’re you so beat up? Your face is a little-”

            But Steve couldn’t finish his sentence because Bucky grabbed him, pulling him close in a tight embrace. Bucky buried his face in Steve’s hair, tears finally springing to his eyes.

            “Just shut up,” Bucky whispered, squeezing his eyes shut.

            Steve struggled under the crushing weight of his friend. “Sorry,” he giggled.

            _Don’t ever leave me again._

           “I thought you were dead.”

            Steve pulled back and examined Bucky with a worried expression, his eyes wide.

            “Oh.” Then a gentle smile spread across his face. “Well, I’m not going anywhere.”

            _A Christmas miracle._

Mrs. Rogers stood up from her chair and wiped her eyes. “How was your walk?” she asked Steve, putting her hand on his bony shoulder.

            “Oh, it was great. Hey, why’re you cryin’, Mama?” Steve asked, turning towards her and tenderly wiping a stray tear from her cheek.

            Mrs. Rogers sniffled and waved her hands in front of her face, “Oh, don’t mind me. Just relieving a bit of stress.”

            Bucky took a deep breath. _Steve is alive, he’s okay,_ he told himself. _Even more than okay. Better, Steve is better._

           Dr. Fitz approached them, grinning at the sight of Steve in his crutches and on his feet. “Great job, Mr. Rogers. You’re getting much better. A few more days of physical therapy, just to make sure everything is ship shape. And then you’ll be out of here for good.”

            Steve turned to Bucky, his  blue eyes bright. “You hear that, Buck? I’m in the clear!”

            The numbness that had once possessed Bucky’s body for weeks was replaced with an even stranger, and stronger, feeling. A sense of euphoria, like this was all a wonderful dream, and he was floating in deep space.

            A terrific feeling of hope swelled inside Bucky’s chest like a balloon, and for the first time during this Christmas season, James Buchanan Barnes felt happiness. Silently, gazing at Steve’s light-filled being, Bucky made a prayer, there in the hospital hallway.

            _Thank you, God. For this._

            “Yeah, Steve,” Bucky choked through tears, “I hear em.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's the end! That's all of it man...but worry not, loves. More Christmas themed stories are on the way, this isn't the last Stucky Christmas you're seeing this month. 
> 
> Comment + kudos, I really appreciate y'all's feedback! <3 
> 
> \- Kaz


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